The Greater Good
by FancifulRivers
Summary: Dark AU. "It's for the greater good." Harry's sick of hearing those words. He's had enough. The only person he can depend on is himself. (Character death etc. in future chapters.)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I do not own and will never own Harry Potter.**

 **Dark AU. Overall warning for child abuse, torture, murder, and (obviously) character death.**

 **This chapter focuses on child abuse. (Also, this was intended to be a oneshot, but my muse apparently thought otherwise.)**

A hand print-shaped bruise bloomed across Harry's shoulder. He staggered back, hyper-focusing on the gleam in Uncle Vernon's eyes.

"Get-out-freak," the words jumbled together as the man's fingers clenched around the ratty collar of Harry's shirt, propelling him bodily out the back door next to his trunk, miraculously unharmed. Even Uncle Vernon didn't want to mess with magic directly. Not when it was so easy to take out his frustrations on his nephew-

The door slammed behind him, and Harry picked himself up wearily. Hedwig was at the Weasleys', a precaution he'd been wise to take. Her absence had been punished by his uncle, although he was sure he'd seen relief in his aunt's eyes, for just a moment. Perhaps she almost cared, not that it mattered.

This time, at least he knew what he was being kicked out for. Dudley was still subdued after the dementor incident last summer, but not enough to stop himself from tripping Harry when he walked past him. And unfortunately, he'd lashed out without thinking, his fist sinking into the meat of Dudley's stomach before he even realised what he was doing. It hadn't done anything more than slightly wind his cousin, but that didn't matter to Vernon. It never did.

Harry tasted blood and grimaced. It slicked his teeth from his cut lip. Vernon had forgotten himself and landed a decent punch right in the face. Normally he confined himself to places hidden by clothing. And now Harry had to wait until morning to find out if he would have to go sleep in the park again (with his trunk this time, so that was a bonus, especially considering its built-in shrinking charm), or if Aunt Petunia had managed to sweet-talk her husband into letting the "good-for-nothing freak" stay until Hogwarts started up again. He was betting on the former.

Slumping down against the bark of the only tree permitted to stay in the back yard, Harry sighed. He was so _tired_. Every year, he begged Dumbledore to let him stay at Hogwarts and every year, the man turned him down. Hagrid had literally retrieved him from a rock in the middle of the sea and his initial Hogwarts letter had been addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, but nothing came of that, either. During the disastrous Occlumency lessons, Snape had _seen_ what the Dursleys did, and nothing happened. Although perhaps that wasn't a shock, since the man hated him.

They weren't normally that bad physically, he reflected as the moon rose. Uncle Vernon liked throwing him out. He didn't really get fed. He certainly didn't receive any semblance of _love_. Petunia and Vernon were both more than clear on that. He stayed there on sufferance, because of Dumbledore and the wards. His mother's love. What would Lily think of the treatment her only child received? Would she care?

Clouds gathered overhead, and rain began to fall. Harry shrunk his trunk, stuffing it into his pocket and huddling under the dripping leaves. The light upstairs in the Dursley house went out.

 _Home sweet home,_ Harry thought bitterly. _As if. I'm done. I'm not staying here one more minute. If Dumbledore cared, he wouldn't leave me here._

A strange shiver ran through him, and showers of sparks fell with the rain, disappearing without sound into the grass.

The wards had fallen.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry ran.

The back fence was over six feet, but he managed to launch himself over it anyway, adrenaline tasting like copper in the back of his throat. He landed heavily on his hands and knees, skinning his palms badly. His wand was in his trunk, but how could that help him anyway? He was underage, and the Ministry hated him. No, he had to run. The Dursleys were on their own.

He felt a twinge of guilt, but brushed it off as he sprinted down the next street over. Dumbledore would probably see to them before the Death Eaters closed in. And if not, well. Perhaps they shouldn't have treated him like shit.

Nobody was outside, a fact he was grateful for. Harry felt like a target had been painted on his back. The wards were all that protected him from You Know Who during the summer months. (And the occasional check-up by an Order member, but those were cursory at best.) With those gone, Harry was doomed.

The park loomed up in his vision and he slowed down, panting as the stitch in his side made itself known. His hands stung badly. There was a tree that he could climb- it used to have a tree house built in, but that had been discouraged when a child had fallen from it. Most of the boards were still there, though. He couldn't stay there long (he'd be trapped), but perhaps it could suffice to take a breather.

Climbing it took more energy than Harry thought, especially considering his headlong break over the fence hadn't incurred the only damage he'd taken that night. He finally tipped himself onto the broadest branch available and felt all his muscles go slack. His cheek rested against the wet bark.

No sounds came from the direction of the Dursley house, although that didn't necessarily mean anything. Silencing spells existed. Although You Know Who always liked to go for the gaudy, so perhaps that was a good sign. For his so-called relatives, anyway. Not for him. Death Eaters could be anywhere. It's not like they didn't know where he lived. Although maybe even Voldemort didn't expect the wards to fall. Harry didn't know if he had enough hope in him left for that.

Exhaustion fogged his mind. He couldn't stay up here. Morning wasn't that far away, and when the sun came up, he wouldn't have the pretense of shelter that this tree offered anymore. He was still so _tired_ -

Probing his lip with the tip of his tongue, he decided at least that was done bleeding. His shoulder ached horribly, and he kept working out bits of gravel from his palms. But he was mostly all right. For now. Until the Death Eaters found him and tortured him until his lungs gave out.

 _Always look on the bright side, why don't you?_ he thought to himself, finally pushing up into an awkward sitting position. Straddling the branch was still painful, but at least he didn't feel quite so much like he'd been laid out for slaughter.

Suddenly, fireworks lit the park from down the road, in the Dursleys' direction, and Harry cursed. _Someone_ had discovered the state of the wards. For a moment, he considered sneaking back toward 4 Privet Drive, to see if it was the Order, but discarded it. Why _should_ he? With his luck, Dumbledore would know how to force the wards back up and he'd be trapped there still. Or kept with someone else who hated him. "For his own good." He was sick of hearing those words.

No, he decided as he dropped lightly to the ground, still feeling the impact jar his bruises.

For better or worse, he was on his own.


End file.
